Flights and Chimes and Mysterious Times (27 page)

He supposed it did not matter.

The egg tumbled from the boy’s hands, over the railing, spinning, catching what little light the Empire had to offer and creating much more of its own.

On the other ship stood the bird. Tall and proud, but
not gleaming. Not yet. A collection of parts put together, measuring time in a different way than it had as a clock.

The Gearwing could not escape time, but it could reuse it. Over and over.

The Lady’s face pushed all other thoughts from his head. Really, it was very like her to demand his attention. His life had been devoted to her; it was only fitting that his death should be, too.

“She will be so alone,” he whispered.

He sensed the egg smash on the ground below as much as heard it.

Lorcan fell.

T
HE EGG CRACKED
on the cobbles and exploded into flame, a great ball of it, yellow and orange, red and gold. The Gearwing opened its beak. Jack prepared to cover his ears, but the music that came now was the sweetest song, filling his head and whole body with warmth. Awed, he watched as the Gearwing unfurled its wings and rose up into the air. The flame rose, too, a fiery streamer, flicking, flashing until the Gearwing caught it and swallowed it down.

A crowd had gathered on the street, drawn by the battling airships. Whispers passed among them, but Jack couldn’t think of a single word. Fire rippled over feathers, restoring them to shining copper and brass, steel and iron.
The very sky seemed to lighten, the air grow warmer, and a wide grin took over Jack’s face. Joyfully, the bird flew, stretching out to half the size of a proper dragon, soaring and diving only to rise again.

Thank you
, it said.

“That’s a fine thing,” said the doctor, dabbing at his eyes. Beth was smiling, but that was Beth. Xeno steered the ship up to the edge of Lorcan’s, the hulls knocking against each other. Xeno lowered the airship so Jack could climb aboard, his long, strong arms reaching to keep Jack steady.

“We should get the other one, too,” said Jack. He didn’t want it to drop from the sky right over the city.

“Good thinking, that chap.” The ship rose and flew over to Lorcan’s, the hulls knocking together. Xeno held it steady so Jack could climb from one to the next.

Lorcan lay on the deck, bloodless, shriveled, gray. Rotted bones, the skin melted from them. A few wisps of colorless hair sprouted from his head. His topper had rolled away. Making sure no one was watching, Jack gave the body a tiny kick, enjoying the last short time in which there was no Mrs. Pond to tell him he was being spiteful. The bones under his toe crumbled to dust, caught on the wind and disappeared. A pair of dark spectacles slid from a pocket of the sagging suit, and Jack thought he finally understood that small mystery. Bending over, he filched them, quickly slipping them away where they wouldn’t be seen.

“Ready when you are, lad,” the doctor called over.

The Gearwing flew alongside the ships, flashing like a shape glimpsed in a hearth fire. Cheers roared up from below at the return of the Gearwing, Londinium’s greatest legend, back to give them hope again. Word had traveled fast, running from one street corner to the next. It looked as if all of Londinium had turned out to see it.

It really was magnificent, the Gearwing, all shreds of its life trapped as a clock gone, its soul restored. It swooped about the two ships, as if checking Jack, Beth, Xeno, and the doctor were all still there, its beautiful song filling the sky.

They steered the ships to land in the gardens on the river embankment, a place laden with yet more memories for Jack. The damaged airships tottered and rocked unsteadily but landed well nonetheless.

“Jack!”

His feet back on the ground for the first time in a great many hours, Jack turned to find the source of the voice. He knew that voice. Arabella ran over the grass, mussed, her pointed face the picture of amazement.

“Word came to the palace,” she said, her breath only a little strained. “The Lady sent me to find out what all the fuss was. They said an airship—” She stopped. “Well, it ’ad
to be you, didn’t it? And, oh, good gracious, that’s never what I think it is?”

“Now, now, Arabella,” said the doctor, approaching on slightly wobbly legs. “Everyone knows the story of the Gearwing.”

“Oh, my word.
You
found it? Oh, my word.”

Jack led her to a bench, shooed away the faeries perched there, lest they get any ideas about hair pulling, and told her the whole tale.

“’E’s . . . dead? Truly? For forever?”

“For forever,” Jack agreed.

A smile threatened to split her face. “You’re a fine boy, Jack. And you were a fine son to the Lady, whatever she may’ve said at the end.”

“Will she be all right?” he asked.

“Don’t worry your head over that.” Arabella stood. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Dragonfaeries with their elongated wings zigged and zagged over the thick river water when Jack joined the others. The Gearwing ceased its circling and came to land before them, towering, aglow with life. It raised a copper leg to point a talon at Jack, who stepped forward.

I owe you a great debt
, said the Gearwing.
You have but to tell me how to repay it
.

Jack told him. The great bird spread its wings and
sparks crackled along the metal feathers. They gathered to a single, red-hot filament that flew into the air, twisting, snapping, flying in the direction of the clock tower.

It waits for you. Whenever you are ready.

“Thank you.”

The gratitude is all mine, young friend.

The Gearwing backed away, hinges flexing, cogs spinning. Once again it raised a sharp talon, but not to point. Metal scraped against metal as it drew the claw down the center of its chest, the edges of the tear curling back, and hooked its heart like a fish. There was a terrible screeching and the thing came free, dangling from its foot for a second before it flew through the air to land in Beth’s hands.

Jack opened his mouth to scream, but found he could not. Great wings unfolded, the gears biting at one another with long teeth, and Jack knew, somehow knew what it meant to do. He ran to the spot where it stood, but it was already gone, away over the water, and he could only watch through wet eyes as it gathered its light, flame licking over copper. All along the river, the people of Londinium shouted and cheered. Behind Jack, Xeno clapped his hands and whooped.

It exploded like a Chinese firework. Piece by piece, the Gearwing they had so carefully put together rained down on the river in a thousand splashes.

Jack wheeled on Beth, a lump in his throat. “Why did it do that? Did it ask you what you wanted?” As it had asked him. “Did you tell it you wanted its heart?”

“Don’t be daft.” She rolled her eyes, but there was a sadness in them, as if the heart she held had already begun to take hold of her. “I didn’t do anything. Thought it gave only one miracle. It asked
me.
” Beth looked down at the heart in her hands. “It asked me to look after this until it comes back. So’s no one else can do what Lorcan did.”

The doctor put his arm around her. Xeno bent so his glass eyes were level with Jack’s.

“You know the story, Jack.”

“But it was . . . Everything we did! All for nothing!”

“Oh, no.” Xeno shook his head. “It’s survived worse than this! Think on it. You’ve seen worse with your own eyes. It’s a legend, and you take it from me. Legends don’t die nearly so easy as people. The Gearwing will return when the time is right. You mark my words.”

Jack walked a short ways away. The Empire of Clouds was churning, busy, coughing up steam. And so it would keep doing, long after he had gone, and just as London must have done in his absence.

“It’s just sad,” he said after a while. Xeno patted him on the shoulder.

“You think so?”

“Why, don’t you?”

“Look around you,” Xeno said gently. Jack looked at the faces of the people lining the streets and the water, happy in a way he’d not seen, not his whole time here. “You brought it back to us when we thought it was gone forever. It has to die so that we can have hope it will live again.”

Together, they walked the short way to the clock tower, empty save for its bells. Beth slowed to fall into step with Jack, the doctor and Xeno ahead. The crowd parted for them, looks of awe and even fright on their faces, but Jack felt a hand or two pat him awkwardly on his back.

“She’ll love me now,” said Beth. “I’ll be able to love her back, and I’ll live at the palace, and Dr. Snailwater will visit me to take my creaks out when I need it.”

Jack stopped to stare at her. Her eyes glowed, but not an angry red like Lorcan’s once had. A friendly, warm gold.

She smiled sweetly. “It only makes sense. She can’t die, and I can’t, so we’ll be together for a long while. Until the Gearwing needs this again, leastways. That’s better than nothing, isn’t it? She’ll dress me in pretty dresses and be nice without Lorcan about the place making her all wretched.”

“Oh, Beth,” he said. A yawn cracked his jaw. He thought he might even sleep well on the blankets in Dr. Snailwater’s parlor, but the best bed of all waited for him in London. Just on the other side of a doorway.

They neared the door at the bottom of the tower—still wood, but it glowed red around the edges at Jack’s approach. Now that the time had come, he had no earthly idea how to say good-bye, or thank them for the help.

“It’s all right, lad,” said the doctor. Xeno shook his hand, a proper shake between men, and Beth, holding her heart, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. He wiped it on his shirtsleeve. He grasped the handle and, with one last look at the great, seething Empire, opened the doorway.

O
N THE OTHER
side of the door, the sun shone, a ball of flame. Tears pricked Jack’s eyes, but it was rather nice to be right about the spectacles. He slipped them on, the lurid brightness immediately dulled. Much better. Now he could see the busy street beyond the gates, packed with snorting horses and the carriages they pulled.

The gardens where he’d last seen Mrs. Pond were mostly empty; sunny as it was, winter still clung to the city with frosted fingertips. High above, the longer hand of the great clock swept slowly from one minute to the next. Pressed to the railing beside the river, he watched the boats, decks lousy with their captains and merchants. No
hints of bronze or brass or steel winked up at him from the shallows picked clean by mud larks.

The clock chimed half past the hour.

It was a few minutes to the edge of the park where he’d first encountered Beth, a few more along to the spot where her birdcage should have been, but wasn’t. Lords and scullery maids bustled about, not a single brass grille in sight on their noses. The birds that sang in the trees were flesh and blood, but perhaps no more alive than the other sort. Jack would miss them, the fantastic creatures, Beth, Xeno, Dr. Snailwater. Even the Lady, who’d been kind to him for a time. But Beth would love her now, and the Lady would love Beth in return. They’d sort out the bit about the cake somehow.